The Promised Land
by SpecialAgentJim
Summary: If a man travels at the speed of light, will he be moving fast enough to outrun his memories? If he goes to a far distant galaxy, has he put enough space between him and his former life? TWO: A Line In The Sand
1. Exodus

**DISCLAIMER – **I do not own _Stargate: Atlantis_. It is the intellectual property of MGM/UA and associates. I am making no money and no copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of fan fiction.

Dr. Itzhak Perlman and Dr. Hanna Eriksson are my original characters.

**RATING – **This story is rated** T **due to some mature themes, implied violence and occasional strong language.

**A/N – **My goodness…what can I say? It's a POV story with an original character. (oh no! -gasp- a GaryStu!) For those of you who've been reading either of my WIPs _All Fun And Games_ and _The Song Of Silent Rivers_, you'll have 'met' Dr. Itzhak Perlman before. After writing a particular chapter for _All Fun And Games_ it occurred to me that Itzhak really deserves a story of his own. Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is it… This is Dr. Itzhak Perlman's "How I Came to Atlantis and What I Discovered When I Got There" story. I never thought I'd be writing a fanfic with an OC as the main character, but hey, there's a first time for everything, right? Anyway, please let me know what you think, and whether or not this is worth continuing.

Shout-out to **Hettie**, who gave me some much needed literary criticism and help with the first chapter. I appreciate it very much! I hope the "new-and-improved" version works a bit better than the original version did.

I have no beta. If you encounter any mistakes, they are mine.

* * *

**The Promised Land**

**1. Exodus**

_Dear Naomi,_

_I wanted to write you a letter, but instead I'm going to tell you a story. It's a story about a man who did something so unbelievable that even the people who know him best would say he was utterly mad if he ever tried to explain it. You might say I'm crazy, too, and you'd probably be right. _

_Do you remember the years before we left home? We used to lie on the balcony on really warm nights and try to count the stars. You asked me once if I thought there might be something out there, some kind of life on another planet. We laughed about that, because neither of us believed there could ever be anything beyond our Earth. We were the nucleus and the universe revolved around us. _

_My beloved, we were wrong._

_As fantastic as it seems, there is life out here. There are other humans like us, who live, love, make war and die just as people have been doing on our world since God formed Adam from the dust. It's a little overwhelming to think they've been here all this time without us realizing it, but at the same time, it's good to know Earth isn't just a lonely outpost in the universe. _

_Perhaps I should begin this story by telling you how I came to learn that we're not alone. _

_A man from the United States Air Force came to see me one day in London. He was a tall man with greying hair. A general, he told me. I hadn't expected anyone to visit my lab that day, especially not an American general, so you can see how I was more than a little curious to know why he was there. _

_The Air Force man told me about something called a Stargate. He told me the most extraordinary tale about using this Stargate to travel through outer space and visit other planets. On these other planets, he claimed, there are untold discoveries just waiting to be made. This adventure is not without its dangers, he informed me, but the thrill of exploring new worlds would far outweigh the potential hazards. _

_His motive for sharing all this with me was that it gave him a way to work up to a proposal. Evidently, they need brilliant doctors on the intergalactic frontier. The Air Force man told me they want curious, intelligent people who aren't afraid of taking risks._

_He said he thought I was just the kind of man they were looking for._

_I don't know what made me want to trust him. Maybe there was something about the way he talked, some spark of real excitement in his eyes that led me to believe he wasn't making any of it up. _

_Then again, maybe I was just desperate._

_Nothing really changes, does it? I was tormented and running when you found me, and I guess I've never truly stopped. I wonder, if a man travels at the speed of light, will he be moving fast enough to outrun his memories? If he goes to a far-distant galaxy, has he put enough space between him and his former life? No matter how far or fast I ran on Earth, I could never escape any of my guilt or that horrible, crippling fear. I'm afraid I won't be able to get away from it even now, though I want to believe there is a chance. _

_Maybe there are miracles still. I don't expect to be led by fire or a pillar of clouds, but a star might help me get to where I want to go. A million stars, lighting the way through the darkness to a place where I can find some peace.. After forty years in the wilderness, maybe I will reach my promised land. _

_I could say a thousand things more to you, but I think it's best if I save them for other letters. I don't know how this story I'm telling you will unfold. I don't know how it will end. I want to make certain I tell it as honestly and properly as I can, so you'll see what becomes of the man whom you once called your best friend._

_I miss you, my love. Your absence is the heaviest among all the burdens of my heart. I pray for you, as I always have, that you'll be happy and safe wherever you are. Some day, perhaps, we will meet again. _

_Faithfully,  
Itzhak_

Itzhak lies in bed and rereads the words he has written. He's kept a journal since his days in the army, and he's always composed it in the form of letters. Mostly, he writes to his mother or Eli, though lately he finds himself addressing his thoughts to others; his father, his sister, and his beloved Naomi. Since beginning this incredible journey through space, he has written to Naomi most often.

He's spent the past eighteen days aboard the intergalactic spacecraft, _Daedalus_, traversing space at a speed he cannot calculate, flying across more miles than he can count. The ship is headed for Atlantis, in the Pegasus galaxy. This sounds like the stuff of science fiction, but it is not.

Itzhak still can't quite wrap his head around the idea that Atlantis is not a myth. He isn't a sceptic, really, but the Lost City of Atlantis in actual fact seems unbelievable. He struggles with the knowledge that not only does Atlantis exist, but he, Dr. Itzhak David Perlman, M.D., is going there. Maybe he won't fully believe until he sets foot in the city. It won't be much longer until the ship reaches Atlantis. Itzhak thinks that if he can see the city and touch it, then for him, Atlantis will finally become real.

He closes his journal. Running his thumb along the spine of the notebook, he tries to imagine what he'll say in the letter he'll write tomorrow, or the day after that. A month or a year from now, what will he say? He wonders if he'll be able to write to Naomi that his life has changed, that _he_ has changed. Maybe in a year, he'll return to Earth and find Naomi there. He pictures himself telling her about everything that he will have learned.

It's a nice daydream.

He might have liked to continue it, but a noise at the door of his quarters pulls him away. Reluctantly, Itzhak pushes aside his blanket and gets up. He's not exactly fit to receive anyone, clad only in boxers and a t-shirt as he is, but he refuses to worry about it now. He goes to the door.

The door opens to reveal a smiling blond-haired woman in the corridor. She wears a Swedish flag patch on the sleeve of her jacket. The blue on the flag is complementary to the blue of her eyes.

"Hello," she says.

"Hanna," he greets her. "Hi."

"Is this a bad time?" Hanna asks. "I hope I ddin't wake you."

"I was in bed, but I was awake already," Itzhak says. "It's okay."

Hanna has been the bright spot for him on this voyage. He's had casual conversations with several people aboard _Daedalus_, but Hanna Eriksson is the only person who really talks to him. He likes her clever sense of humour and her practical approach to life, and he thinks he'll like working with her when they reach Atlantis.

Hanna is a medical doctor, like him, but she has the advantage of having seen Atlantis before. She was part of the original expedition team and had been in the Lost City for a year before her recent return to Earth. Now, she tells him, she is on her way home again.

Itzhak is intrigued by the idea that Hanna considers Atlantis her home. He can't help wondering if he'll eventually come to see the Lost City this way, too. It would be nice to feel settled and safe for a change, and it has been a very long time since he's been able to call any place _home_.

"Dr. Parrish and Dr. Brown were asking about you," Hanna says. 'We missed you at breakfast."

"Sorry," he says. "I wasn't hungry. Want to come in?"

She smiles as he steps aside to let her pass through the doorway and into his quarters. The door slides closed behind her with a soft hiss. She sizes up the room with an appraising glance before her gaze comes to rest on Itzhak again. Itzhak wonders if she's embarrassed to have discovered him in such a state of disarray. If she is, her expression doesn't show it.

"What have you been doing?" Hanna says.

"Writing a letter," Itzhak tells her.

"My mother always says letter-writing is a lost art. People don't write enough real letters in the information age," says Hanna. "Who are you writing to?"

"My wife."

"Really? I didn't know you were married."

"No. No, I'm not. I—" He begins to explain, but realizes he doesn't want to talk about Naomi with someone he's only recently met. He averts his gaze from Hanna's face and says, "Do you know how much longer before we're in Atlantis?"

"Less than two hours," Hanna tells him. If she thinks his abrupt change of subject is strange, she keeps her thoughts to herself. "Lieutenant Cadman told me. I saw her a little while ago. You know, you should really get your things together."

"Hmm…" Itzhak says. He sits down on his bunk and stares at yesterday's clothes, which are jumbled together in the spot where he'd undressed for bed. "It might take more than two hours to get my stuff together."

"Get dressed," says Hanna.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going to help you gather your things. It won't take long at all," Hanna says. "First, though, you should put on some clothes."

"Oh. Everything's wrinkled. I don't—"

"Put on the cleanest, least wrinkled thing. When we get home, I'm going to teach you how to take care of your laundry. How to iron." Hanna smiles at him. "How to _fold._"

"Naomi always did that for me. After she…well, afterward, it never really seemed to matter."

"it matters when you're making a first impression."

Itzhak wanders across the room and locates some things that are clean and not too badly creased. He turns his back toward Hanna and begins to dress, unabashed despite this scant precaution.

"Do you think Dr. Weir will care?" he says.

"That you're wrinkled? Probably not, but I should think you'd be a bit more concerned about your appearance when you meet her."

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"Yes, I suppose they can. People are rarely what they seem to be at first sight." Hanna looks thoughtful. She leans down and scoops up the puddle of discarded clothing next to the bed. She says, "I'll bet you've misjudged half the people on this ship already, just as badly as they've misjudged you."

Itzhak pauses halfway through the task of buttoning his shirt. "What do you mean?"

"People think you're antisocial, Itzhak," says Hanna. "I've heard people saying they think you're distant and unapproachable."

"Maybe I just don't want to be approached by any of them."

"You're going to be working with some of those people," Hanna tells him. "You know, we're really like a family in Atlantis. You'll be in for a tough time if you can't get along."

"I won't have any problems getting along. If they stay out of my way and I stay out of theirs, we'll get along just fine."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Where I come from, it does."

Hanna carefully puts down the pair of trousers she has just finished folding. She walks around the room until she is fully facing him.

"Itzhak," she says. "You're not going to like this, but I want you to listen to me. I know that where you come from, you're used to having everything revolve around you, but it's not going to be that way in Atlantis. We depend on each other there, and nobody is more important than anybody else. The sooner you understand that, the easier it'll be for you."

"Are you _lecturing_ me?"

Hanna tilts her chin determinedly. "Yes. For your own good."

"Don't expect me to thank you."

"I don't," says Hanna. "Not today, at any rate."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it sounds like," Hanna says. "I don't expect you to thank me. In fact, I suspect you don't even take me seriously right now. I think you are the sort of person who must learn everything the hard way, All I'm saying is that some day you'll remember we had this conversation and you'll see I was right. You will thank me then."

Itzhak can think of half a dozen acerbic replies, but he exercises enough control to restrict them to the inside of his head. He isn't pleased about being lectured, but he consoles himself by saying Hanna really means well by her words. She wants to be his friend and she wants him to fit in when they reach their destination. He has to appreciate her intentions. It is, as the saying goes, the thought that counts.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The _Daedalus_' beam deposits them in the gate room of Atlantis; Itzhak and Hanna, Doctors Brown and Parrish, and a cluster of young Marines.

This is only the second time in Itzhak's life that he's been 'beamed' anywhere, but even if he experiences it a thousand times, he's sure he'll never get used to the sensation of being transported by the Asgard technology. He doesn't care for the idea of being disassembled at the molecular level, shuffled around for a few nanoseconds, and then reassembled somewhere else. On the _Daedalus_, somebody had dubbed him 'Dr. McCoy' when they'd heard him dissertate about the potential risks associated with the beam. Itzhak hadn't laughed at the joke, even though he thinks the sentiment behind it was entirely appropriate. He's a doctor, not a physics experiment. He sees nothing funny about that.

After a few seconds, the disorienting after-effects of the beam wear off and Itzhak is able to take in his surroundings. He is quite honestly awestruck by what he observes. The gate room of Atlantis is both efficient and beautiful in design.

He has materialized facing the Stargate. He turns in a slow, clockwise circle so that he can fix a clear image of everything in his mind, a meaningful first look at the city. The window at the top of the stairs catches his eye. It appears to be stained glass, and he thinks it is magnificently aesthetic. Everywhere he looks, he sees Ancient writing. Even the stairs are etched with the Ancient script.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" Hanna says quietly.

Beside Hanna, Dr. Parrish lets out a happy sigh and says, "It's great to be back."

Itzhak doesn't know what to say. He tries to fade into the camouflage of the Marines as he watches a man and a woman descend the stairs and approach the newly-arrived group. Itzhak doesn't recognize the black-haired man. He assumes the woman must be the expedition leader, Elizabeth Weir. Both of them are smiling at the newcomers like long-lost relatives in an airport.

Dr. Weir greets Hanna and the scientists by name. She shakes hands and introduces herself to each of the Marines. Finally, she gets to Itzhak and holds out her hand.

"Itzhak Perlman, I presume?" she says to him after introducing herself.

Itzhak wants to cringe when he sees the amused look that crosses the face of the black-haired man. He shakes hands with Dr. Weir, and says, "Yes, that's me."

"Welcome to Atlantis," Dr. Weir says. She nods in the direction of the man beside her. "This is our military commander, Lieutenant-Colonel John Sheppard."

Sheppard grins and sticks out his hand. "Hi," he says. "Itzhak Perlman? Like the violinist?"

Itzhak gives the colonel his most trenchant glare and ignores the man's outstretched hand. There was a time when he had a sense of humour about sharing his name with a famous classical musician, but like a lot of other things in his life in recent years, his appreciation for irony has paled to a shadow of its former self.

He says to Dr. Weir. "I thought your Chief Medical Officer was supposed to be here."

"Carson asked me to pass along his apologies," Dr. Weir says. "He wanted to be here to greet you himself, but he's been unavoidably detained on the mainland. Maybe Colonel Sheppard could—"

"Dr. Weir, I can show Dr. Perlman around," Hanna interjects, stepping forward as she speaks. "I'm sure he won't be interested in the same guided tour as Colonel Sheppard's men, and besides, it'll give me the perfect opportunity to catch up with everyone in the Infirmary."

Dr. Weir smiles, and nods her assent. "All right," she says, and turns her attention to Itzhak again. "Dr. Perlman, make sure Dr. Eriksson shows you the way to my office. I'd like to speak with you, once you've had a chance to look around."

"Of course," Itzhak says.

The group disperses quickly after that. Parrish and Brown disappear together, chattering at top speed. The Marines march away with Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Weir.

Hanna takes Itzhak gently by the arm, and leads him up the etched stairway. Neither of them says anything until they're well away from the gate room.

Itzhak has the feeling Hanna is preparing to lecture him again, but unlike their last conversation aboard _Daedalus_, he can acknowledge he deserves this one. For a man trying to make a good first impression, he hasn't been overly impressive. The problem, he realizes, is that he thinks he's forgotten how to behave in unfamiliar situations. Tucked away in his lab, surrounded by his dutiful subordinates, he'd never had to worry about coping with too much change.

Now, he's been thrust into the unknown with no safety net, and it utterly terrifies him. His immediate reaction to his fear is to try to protect himself. He becomes conscious of the fact that he is tense, waiting for Hanna to speak.

When no reprimand seems to be forthcoming, Itzhak ventures, "What are you thinking, Hanna?"

She presses her lips together in a momentary frown. Finally, she says, "I think you ought to put on a new attitude before you meet privately with Dr. Weir. She won't be pleased if you keep behaving the way you did just now."

"What do you suppose she'll want to discuss when we meet?"

"I couldn't begin to speculate on that," Hanna says. "Your meeting with her is no concern of mine, at any rate."

"Are you angry with me?"

"No," says Hanna. She sighs. "I'm not angry. I'm disappointed. I really did think you knew how to act professionally."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not the person who deserves an apology."

"But—"

"Colonel Sheppard," Hanna says. "He was just curious. You shouldn't have given him the brush-off like that. He's the one you should tell you're sorry."

"But, he—"

"I'm sure he didn't mean to offend you." Hanna stops walking and pulls Itzhak to a stop beside her. Gently, she turns him around so they're facing each other. She rests her hand on his forearm. "You've been hurt before, I know, but not everyone means you harm, Itzhak. You don't need to defend yourself against us."

Twice in one day, Hanna has dispensed her opinion on his attitude. Part of Itzhak's brain acknowledges that he should be listening to her. He can grudgingly admit that she might even be correct in what she is saying, but he just can't bring himself to let his guard down, yet.

"Weren't we going to check out the Infirmary?" he says.

"All right," says Hanna. "If you don't want to talk, that's okay. Let me show you where you're going to be doing your work."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

After completing Hanna's whirlwind Infirmary tour, she and Itzhak parted company. Hanna had said she had people to see and things to do, but she promised to catch up with Itzhak again, later, to see how his first day in Atlantis turned out. She suggested having supper together, and he had agreed because the alternative is eating alone.

Eating alone is what he's doing now. He'd wandered the corridors until he found his way to the mess hall where he'd discovered to his disappointment that even in another galaxy, food prepared in large quantities still holds to a certain standard. It's not bad food, _per se_. It's just not of the quality he'd been used to on Earth.

This is the latest item on the rapidly-growing list of adjustments he has to make to his life here in the Pegasus galaxy, but he suspects it won't be the last. Already today, he's been educated about several things he needs to change. On paper, he might know a lot about Atlantis, but the human variable sets all that theory on its proverbial ear.

He stirs his soup distractedly and tries to convince himself he's hungry enough to finish it. Maybe he should abandon the soup and eat the blue Jell-O instead.

"Dr. Perlman?"

Itzhak looks up when he hears another man say his name. The person standing near the table is smiling, holding out his right hand. Seeing no way around the inevitable, Itzhak puts down his spoon and shakes hands with the man.

'Yes, I'm Itzhak Perlman," he says tiredly.

He waits for the usual jibe about his name, but it never comes. Either this man is ignorant or he's making a special effort to be tactful. Itzhak doesn't really care which it is. He's just grateful for the small reprieve.

"I'm Dr. Beckett," says the man. He speaks with a Scottish brogue. "I'm really sorry I wasn't here to meet you when you first arrived. I was on the mainland. I trust Dr. Biro and Dr. Wolfchild gave you the cook's tour, though."

"Actually, Dr. Eriksson showed me around," Itzhak says.

Dr. Beckett's smile broadens. "Oh, aye, of course. You must've gotten to know Hanna during the trip out here. She's a fine lass and an excellent physician. You've no idea how glad we are to have her back."

Itzhak doesn't know how to respond to this, so he says simply, "She seems very nice."

"Gets on well with everyone, our Hanna. So, then, what do you think of the city?"

"It's remarkable. I'm impressed with your Infirmary."

"It's your Infirmary now, as well," Dr. Beckett says. "Tomorrow morning, you can meet the rest of the staff, and I'll show you the projects I've been working on. Then, I'd like you to come to the mainland with me and meet our Athosian neighbours."

"I thought I'd start working this afternoon."

Dr. Beckett looks amused. "It's your first day in Atlantis, and you don't want to explore? I would have expected you to be the curious sort."

"I'm going to be here a while. There'll be plenty of time for me to go exploring," Itzhak says. "You know, I've been cooped up on the _Daedalus_ with nothing constructive to do for the last three weeks. I'd really like to get to work."

"Tomorrow," Dr. Beckett says firmly. "Today's the day to get yourself all settled in, and then tomorrow you can work to your heart's content."

Itzhak's obstinacy threatens to rear its ugly head. He balks at being told what to do. He's lived by his own design for so long that he isn't used to following other people's directives any more, and he feels an instant flare of resentment toward his new boss. With effort, he pushes the negative emotion down. It won't do if he gets off to a bad start with Dr. Beckett.

He drops his gaze to the table and says, "Tomorrow, then."

He can sense the other doctor studying him. Beckett's scrutiny makes him uncomfortable because he has the impression Beckett is one of those people with the uncanny ability to know exactly what other people are thinking, just by looking at them. Itzhak doesn't like being analyzed. It's all he can do to keep from telling Beckett to quit staring at him.

"Well," Beckett says. "I'll leave you to finish your lunch, shall I?"

Itzhak says nothing. Beckett appraises him for a moment longer, but finally gives up and turns away.

For the first time since leaving Earth, Itzhak feels a twinge of regret. He misses his cozy London flat, his lab and his clutch of assistants who understood precisely how to take care of his every whim and knew when it was best to stay out of his way. He thinks of the adage, _you don't know what you've got until it's gone_.

He's not sure Atlantis is going to be the promised land after all. Maybe it's just Egypt under an assumed name.

**TBC  
--------------------  
A/N #2 – **Well, there it is…the expository first chapter of the fic I never thought I'd write. There _is_ a plot, I promise! Anyway, press the blue button and tell me what you think? Writing an original protagonist in somebody else's setting is pretty much an experiment for me, so whatever you throw at me by way of commentary will be read with an open mind.

For those of you who are reading _All Fun And Games_, I should be posting an update on it tomorrow or Wednesday. Sadly, I have yet _another_ idea for a story I'd like to start, and I want to get my thoughts down on virtual paper before I forget.


	2. A Line In The Sand

**DISCLAIMER – **_Stargate: Atlantis _is the intellectual property of MGM/UA and associates. I am not receiving compensation in any from, from any source, for the creation of this story. It is a work of fan fiction only, written for personal enjoyment. No copyright infringement is intended.

Dr. Itzhak Perlman and Dr. Hanna Eriksson are my original characters. If you would like to use them, you may. Just ask me first.

**RATING – **This story is rated** T**

**A/N – **Holy cow! Once again, my lovely readers, you have amazed and humbled me with your response. I will confess I never really expected an OC fic to generate as much feedback as this one seems to be generating. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and also thanks to those of you who are reading but may not be reviewing. I do appreciate constructive comments, though, so if anyone has any for me, don't be afraid to share.

I have no beta. Any mistakes you might find are all mine.

* * *

**The Promised Land**

**2. A Line In The Sand**

_Dear Naomi,_

_I think I've discovered another incarnation of Professor Amir. _

_If you thought our dear old landlord in Tel Aviv was the master of bureaucratic claptrap, then you've not met the illustrious Dr. Elizabeth Weir. She is the leader of our expedition, and believe me when I say a finer politician never was born or made. This woman would give our Amir a run for his money any day of the week, and twice on the Sabbath. _

_I'm sure Dr. Weir is a nice woman. Hanna says she's a great leader, and everyone here seems to think very highly of her. I prefer to reserve judgment until I've had an encounter with her that doesn't involve her quoting endless policies and procedures and me nodding as if my very future rests on every word she says. One thing I learned from time spent with dear old Amir is the fine art of subterfuge. There's something to be said for the ability to look focussed and attentive when your mind is really light-years away. Amir always commented on what a good listener I am. I truly did pay attention to him when he had something useful to say, but you know how rare that was. I think most of the time he talked for the sake of his own self-importance. _

_God save us all from the officious and the inane. _

_My meeting with Dr. Weir yesterday afternoon did provide a brief interlude in an otherwise tedious day. One might think life on another planet would be exciting, or at the very least, interesting. Not so, my love. Atlantis is quite honestly a very boring place, especially when one's superiors deny him the opportunity to begin the work he's been brought here to do. _

_Yesterday at lunch, my boss happily informed me that instead of working, I ought to use the day to get settled in. Imagine that! If he was talking about my getting acclimatized to my surroundings, he must be the worst kind of optimist. Earth, this place surely is not. Learning to live here with my sanity intact is going to require more than an afternoon of roaming the halls and smiling at strangers. _

_By now, I expect you're wondering about the identity of this person of whom I have such a high opinion. My immediate superior is a man by the name of Carson Beckett. He's one of those doctors who seem to think psychology merits a rightful place among the other medical disciplines. Well, you know how I feel about that. Psychology has never held much sway with me as a legitimate profession, much less a branch of medicine. _

_Beckett certainly seems determined to analyze me. I don't know what he'll do when he figures out his attempts to unpack my emotional baggage aren't succeeding. I don't think he's the sort that copes well with disappointment. _

_This afternoon, I'm going with him to the mainland. I still haven't done any actual work. Maybe the Athosians will need my skills. _

_The Athosians are our neighbours, though this isn't their home planet. They originated on a world called Athos, but had to leave when they were attacked by the Wraith. I'll explain about the Wraith later. Suffice it to say they are aliens and they're the enemy. Effectively, they made our Athosian neighbours into refugees. _

_I think you would like the Athosian leader. Her name is Teyla Emmagan, and she is one of the most self-possessed women I have ever met. I don't know her very well yet, but I feel safe in admitting I like her. In some ways, she reminds me of you. _

_I hope the other Athosians are as friendly as Teyla. If they are, I might find myself spending more time on the mainland than locked away in this gilded cage. Time spent in the great outdoors among people with no hidden agendas or insincere smiles seems as close to Paradise as a man can get. _

_I promise to tell you all about the mainland in my next letter. If I see any flowers there, I'll sketch them for you, because I know how much you like exotic flowers. I don't suppose you could find more exotic flowers than ones from another galaxy. _

_Tell the boys I love them. Hug Sam and Nathan for me. _

_Faithfully,  
Itzhak_

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

'_Jumper bay…'jumper bay…_

Itzhak realizes this designation is meaningless to him as he roams the corridors in search of the place where he's supposed to meet Dr. Beckett. He knows it's where they keep the puddlejumpers, but that is logically obvious. He wishes the location of the bay was as obvious. Maybe someone ought to post a sign with a picture and an arrow. _This way to the 'jumpers._

In theory, Itzhak knows what a puddlejumper is, and he thinks he understands the basic principles of how to fly one. He might even have been capable of learning to fly a 'jumper himself, if he'd allowed Dr. Beckett to administer his Ancient Technology Activator gene therapy.

Itzhak shivers at the thought of Beckett's ATA gene therapy. He'd told Itzhak about it this morning while they'd been in one of the labs. Beckett explained the gene therapy is administered by injection and carried throughout the body by means of a mouse retrovirus. The therapy is successful in forty-eight percent of cases. Beckett is thrilled with this result.

After giving his little speech about the project and its success, Beckett had the nerve to suggest Itzhak should receive the ATA gene therapy. Itzhak knows too much about genetics to be comfortable with the idea of Carson Beckett's mouse retrovirus mucking about inside his body. He doesn't want anything tampering with his genes. In his opinion, potentially gaining the ability to fly a spaceship with his mind is not worth the risk of having his body used for experimental purposes. Naturally, he'd declined to be a party to Dr. Beckett's plan.

What he'd actually said was, _there's no way in hell you're doing that to me._

The look of complete shock on Carson Beckett's face had been gratifying. Just for a moment, the balance of power had shifted Itzhak's way. Of course, by failing to tell Itzhak exactly how to get to the 'jumper bay, Beckett has subtly tipped the scale in his own favour again.

Itzhak stops in the middle of the corridor and tries to get his bearings. He's sure he is going in circles now. This is frustrating. He's never had a very good sense of direction, and everything in these corridors looks the same to him. He exhales noisily.

"Excuse me," says a male voice behind him. "Are you lost?"

Startled by the unexpected presence of another person, Itzhak turns around quickly to see who has addressed him. The individual standing there is a man around Itzhak's own age. His light brown hair is in disarray and his clothes are so rumpled that Itzhak wonders if the man might have slept in them. He peers at Itzhak over the top of round, silver-rimmed glasses that have migrated precariously toward the tip of his nose.

"Am I lost?" Itzhak echoes. "As a matter of fact…yes."

"Where are you trying to go?" The man speaks with a peculiar accent, perhaps something eastern European. "I can help you."

"Can you tell me how to find the 'jumper bay?"

"You can walk with me. I'm going there," says the man. He smiles in a friendly manner. "You must be Dr. Perlman."

"How do you know that?"

"Atlantis is small city, and news _does _travel faster than the speed of light. Besides," the man adds, waving a hand at the flag patch on Itzhak's jacket, "Rodney said our new doctor comes from Israel, so I made educated guess."

"Israel via England and the United States," Itzhak says. "Rodney wouldn't happen to be Rodney McKay, by any chance?"

"Yes. Have you met him?"

"Not yet, but his reputation precedes him."

"Rodney is legend in his own mind," the man says, but his remark is softened by a fond smile. "He can be difficult at times, but he's really good person. If he makes bad first impression on you, don't be surprised and don't take it personally. He treats everyone with equal disrespect."

Itzhak can't help being impressed by this man's frankness. "I'll keep that in mind, Doctor…?"

"Zelenka," says his companion, who suddenly looks sheepish. "You must forgive me. I know your name already and I haven't told you mine. I'm Radek Zelenka."

"I'm honoured, Dr. Zelenka."

Radek Zelenka beams at him and offers, "You can call me Radek, if you want to. Most people are on first-name basis here, though there _are_ some exceptions."

"I'll keep that in mind, too," Itzhak says. "And if we're on a first-name basis, I guess you ought to call me Itzhak."

The two of them slip into an easy back-and-forth exchange as the make their way to the 'jumper bay. It's all small talk, but this suits Itzhak fine. He's not ready for any deep conversations yet, unless they happen to be work-related. He's not prepared to commit himself beyond casual acquaintance with somebody by revealing something too personal about himself, either.

Nevertheless, chatting with polite, amiable Radek Zelenka, he can see the potential for something positive. Even if they never become good friends, Itzhak thinks at least he ought to be able to consider Radek an ally. This might not seem like much, but it's more than he can say about some of the other people he's met around here.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Flying in the 'jumper makes Itzhak feel sick.

He curls around his misery and chastises himself for not knowing this would happen. His voyage on the _Daedalus_ must have lulled him into a false sense of security about flying in spaceships, because somehow he'd gotten the idea that he would be perfectly fine in the 'jumper, too. If he'd thought about it logically, he tells himself now, he would have realized he'd been okay aboard _Daedalus_ because _Daedalus_ had been traversing the vacuum of deep space and he hadn't been able to feel the motion of the ship. Even though the 'jumper is capable of space flight, right now it's flying in the planet's atmosphere like an airplane, and that is a completely different matter altogether.

The day which had begun so uneventfully is deteriorating fast.

In the two front seats of the 'jumper, Dr. Beckett and Colonel Sheppard are engaged in a debate about which sport is more exciting, soccer or football. Evidently, the colonel prefers American football. Dr. Beckett says he prefers soccer, though he calls it football, which makes Sheppard laugh and tease him about not only his taste in sports but his choice of vocabulary as well.

Colonel Sheppard glances briefly over his shoulder into the rear of the 'jumper, where Itzhak and Teyla are sitting.

"What do you think, Dr. P?" the colonel inquires.

"I think you should concentrate on flying," Itzhak says, and notices he sounds just as miserable as he feels.

"It's under control, Doc. Don't worry," says Sheppard. "So, what do you think? Soccer or football?"

"Baseball."

"What?"

"I like baseball. How is this discussion _relevant, _Colonel?"

"Well…it isn't, I guess," Sheppard says. "I was just making conversation."

"John, I believe Dr. Perlman would rather not engage in a conversation right now," Teyla interjects. "Perhaps you could continue this debate about Earth sports some other time?"

"Okay…" Sheppard draws out the second syllable of the word, making his incomprehension known to everyone. "Whatever you say, Teyla. Any suggestions about what we _should_ talk about?"

"Maybe somebody can tell me exactly what we're supposed to be doing on the mainland," Itzhak says, "since, apparently, no one saw fit to inform me before we left."

Dr. Beckett makes a small, nondescript noise that might be the product of annoyance, but his patient tone belies it when he speaks. "You might've asked before we left, Dr. Perlman. I would've told you anything you wanted to know."

"I shouldn't have to ask, should I? Or is disinformation standard procedure here?"

"Hey—" Sheppard begins.

Beckett holds up a hand. "Easy there, Colonel," he says gently, but continues more sternly when he addresses Itzhak. "Disinformation is not standard procedure, Dr. Perlman. I told you that we'd be going to the mainland to offer some medical assistance to the Athosians. You didn't ask for details, and I could only assume you were satisfied with what you'd been told."

"You _assumed_...?" Itzhak says.

"Several of our children have come down with an infectious disease," says Teyla. "It is highly contagious, but it is not fatal. Only when someone contracts it in adulthood, the condition becomes more complicated. Dr. Beckett has been coming every day for the last several days to look in on our children."

"Thankfully, none of the adults are showing any symptoms, yet," Dr. Beckett adds. "I'm hoping the situation stays that way. The disease seems to be a lot like chicken pox, and you know how dreadful that can be for an adult."

_Chicken pox!_ It's all Itzhak can do not to unleash the diatribe that's pushing for freedom against the restraining edge of his conscience. He is an eminently qualified scientist, a leading researcher in his field. He's meant to do important work in a laboratory, not to be dragged off to some camp in the middle of nowhere to observe a few cases of a common childhood disease.

Despite his ire, Itzhak does have empathy for the Athosian children. It isn't their fault that they're ill. Itzhak doesn't like to see people suffering and he knows he's going to do everything he can to help them. His biggest complaint isn't about caring for a handful of sick children. They, at least, will have no ulterior motive for wanting him there.

Beckett, on the other hand, does not need him on the mainland. Itzhak is of the opinion that making him come along on this little trip is Beckett's way of exercising a bit of control, his attempt at establishing the departmental pecking order and making it clear to Itzhak who is really in charge.

"I can think of far worse infections than chicken pox," Itzhak says. He irons all the nuance from his voice, and adds, "When you work in epidemiology, you see it all. The genetically engineered diseases are the worst."

Carson Beckett's eyes widen slightly and he looks a little mystified, as if he can't quite grasp what he's hearing. He stammers, "Aye…I expect they are."

"I could have showed you a thing or two, back in my lab on Earth."

"I…expect you could have," Beckett manages.

"I don't suppose I'll have much opportunity to study that sort of thing here, though, will I?" Itzhak says, still being careful not to allow sarcasm to creep into his tone. "I imagine we'll all be much too busy practicing frontier medicine to do a lot of research."

Beckett says nothing. Mollified by this small victory, Itzhak slumps in his seat and welcomes the ensuing silence amid which he can nurse his upset stomach and his self-pity. Teyla casts a reproachful look in his direction. He mouths a penitent "Sorry," but doesn't offer anything more.

Up front, Sheppard says quietly to Beckett, "Carson, are you just going to let that go?"

"For now," Carson murmurs. "Aye, for now I'll let him have the benefit of the doubt. Give him a wee bit of time to settle down, and then we'll see."

_We'll see_, Itzhak echoes in his mind. _We'll see._ He can't help thinking, now he and Carson Beckett have locked themselves into an inexorable struggle for power. Inevitably, only one of them can be the winner.

Itzhak Perlman is a man who hates to lose.

**TBC  
--------------------  
A/N #2 – **I know I said I'd update _All Fun and Games_ sometime today, but I hit the proverbial wall with Chapter 14. I think I'll try re-writing it and see if it works a little better. lol…_we'll see._


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